


Krayt Dragons

by madame_alexandra



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_alexandra/pseuds/madame_alexandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han Solo is NOT the kind of man who wins stuffed animals for princesses. But, in the course of a smuggling mission, if he accidentally won a stuffed animal, he might have to figure out a way to give it to someone, say a princess, without looking like a total sap ... ESB-era. Fluff-ish. Chewbacca makes several appearances as a sassmaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Krayt Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> published originally on fanfiction.net under the same pen name.

**_ Krayt Dragons _ **

* * *

 

 

Han Solo was really, extremely busy doing absolutely nothing. He was not accustomed to doing nothing while Chewie did all the something, and he was definitely not accustomed to feeling out of place and awkward in seedy, other-worldly, and/or weird locations.

Hell; maybe the rebellion had changed him.

With narrow eyes, he looked around the grounds of the expansive castle, his gaze sharp and calculating, looking for signs of trouble. The boring thing was: there appeared to be no signs of trouble, at all. This place was apparently so far off the Empire’s radar that it was no less than some sort of happy-go-lucky carnival.

Games were being played. _Games,_ Han noted, while Chewbacca was in a back room negotiating with the spritely patron of the palace. With any luck, they’d be able to head back to the rebel base with a load of fresh food, some weapons, and some fur coats. Han wasn’t sure if it was the unadulterated adoration he received for smuggling goods back to the alliance that kept him hanging around, or if he was genuinely more terrified of Jabba than he was willing to admit, but here he was again, hauling his ass around the galaxy to make sure a hopeless guerilla organization got some munitions.

Well; maybe not entirely hopeless. They’d done pretty good with the Death Star.

Then again, their current choice of secret hideout was pretty _kriffing_ miserable. Despite looking dashing in winter gear, Han didn’t actually enjoy being cold.

Kicking his foot in the dust, he glanced up at the planet’s bright sun and then over towards the palace entrance again, gritting his teeth. What in the hell was taking Chewie so long? They’d come this far because he claimed he had an in with this old pirate – bespectacled, tiny, slightly orange pirate – and then he disappeared for hours to haggle? Han scowled, casting his gaze around again for something to do – it wasn't often that both his charming persuasion _and_ Wookiee translating ability weren’t needed.

Over to the side of the broad steps of the castle, a mass of large, overbearing, and obnoxious stuffed animals caught his eye – they looked _mangy_ , and _sad_ , but he recognized the general set up of the game; there was a version on every planet, and he’d been a pro at it back on the Corellian streets.

Back when he was an outlaw-in-training rather than an actual, bona-fide, empire’s-most-wanted smuggler-slash-freedom-fighter.

Han smirked a little. He sure was racking up a stunning resume of criminal activity.

Genuinely concerned he might drop dead of boredom and annoyance, he strode over to the kiosk and reached into his pocket for some credits, eyeing the creature manning the station, wondering if he spoke Basic.

“Credit to play,” rasped the being, with a shaky wink and a smile. She – or he – whatever it was – reached out and flexed its hand, palm up.

Han flicked currency into his palm, and waited to be given some sort of object to be chucked at the targets lined up. The being handed him three such objects – not spherical, but weirdly shaped, and difficult to maneuver –

\-- and that was how he ended up spending fifty credits to try and beat some stupid game on some stupid planet while Chewie took his sweet time organizing their stupid cargo.

In fact, Han was still loudly arguing with the game’s arbitrator – an obvious crook, in his opinion, who was somehow fixing the game – there was no way the captain of the _Millennium Falcon_ was unable to hit three simple targets that were right in front of his face, weirdly shaped balls be damned – when Chewbacca came strolling into the sunlight, followed by a line of silent pirates who marched off to load the _Falcon_.

Chewbacca managed to witness the meager triumph of his co-pilot; as he approached – curiously, and a bit skeptically – Han was dragging a rather large, demented looking stuffed Krayt dragon over the counter and snapping something incredibly rude at the creature who’d just given it to him.

_[Han]_ Chewie growled.

Yanking the Krayt dragon around, Han turned, eyes molten.

“What?” he barked.

Noticing it was Chewie, he calmed down a little his glare hardening. He scowled. Chewie cocked his head at an intrigued angle.

_[What are you doing?]_

“I’m makin’ this cheatin’ scum over here give me what he owes me!” Han retorted, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the hut.

Chewie’s face was unreadable for a moment. He scrunched his nose slightly.

_[You got into a fight over a toy?]_

Han, well aware he looked ridiculous clutching a slightly over-sized stuffed animal, and attempting to dispel the ridiculousness with a healthy amount of bravado, lifted his chin, and straightened his shoulders.

“Not over the toy,” he growled. “My pride!”

He’d just gone over to play one game and entertain himself! It wasn’t his fault if the game master was a swindler, and Han grew increasingly frustrated by his lack of skill at winning a child’s game, and became convinced he had to assert his masculinity by winning this … _thing_ …

Han looked down at the Krayt dragon, and grimaced. Chewie jutted his jaw out, snickering rudely.

_[What are you going to do with your pride?]_ he mocked, eyeing the toy smugly.

Han considered retorting with a smart _‘shove it down your throat, you big walking carpet’_ – but he thought better of it. He shrugged, and then dropped the toy. He started to turn and kick it back to the carnival creature, if the toys were so important to him he was fixing the game, and then he thought better of it. He picked it back up, and stared at it seriously.

“I’ll give it to the Leia,” he decided.

He hadn’t exactly known he was going to decide that, and if he had, he almost surely would not have stated it out loud.

In front of Chewie.

Because the Wookiee in question let out a howl of laughter that nearly startled Han into cardiac arrest. His eyes wide – and then narrow in annoyance – he marched toward Chewie, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

“Chewie,” he hissed. “What in seven hells are you – laughing about?” he demanded.

_[You won a stuffed toy for the Princess!]_ Chewie guffawed.

To his horror, Han felt a flush creeping up his neck. Mentally ordering that to go away, he tightened his grip on Chewie and gave him a menacing look.

“I did not,” he snapped. “I won the game and they gave me this thing and – “

_[You won a toy for the Princess because you like her!]_ Chewie snickered loftily.

“I did not!” Han insisted aggressively, resisting the urge to start beating his friend over the head with the stuffed Krayt dragon.

_[Why did you take the toy instead of just winning and gloating?]_ Chewie provoked.

“I – he gave it to me, it wasn’t my fault I had to take it – I didn’t want – “

_[You took it to give to the Princess so she’ll like you!]_

“CHEWIE!” roared Han, his expression dark. He tried to think of a better defense for his absurd decision – and it was a decision, not that he’d admit it – but he couldn’t, so he just said: “Shut up.” Glaring a moment, he lowered his voice. “Why would I do that, huh?” He demanded. “Who woos a woman by giving her a Krayt dragon?”

Chewbacca shrugged at him solemnly.

_[Don’t ask me to explain humans],_ was his sage response, as he lumbered off to deal with the rest of the illicit cargo.

He spared a moment to turn around, laugh pointedly at Han, give him some sort of asinine Wookiee _smirk,_ and mutter something about how he’d never thought he’d see the day when a tiny woman had the great Han Solo so moony-eyed.

Fuming, Han glared after him, the stuffed dragon hanging by his leg, gripped by the tail. Strangely though, he couldn’t make himself drop it and leave it. He’d already gotten it into his head that he was going to give it to Leia. She needed to be cheered up. She moped around all the time. It seemed like something Luke would do, and Leia certainly seemed to like to be around Luke.

Not that Han had noticed or particularly cared.

He just _happened_ to have won a gaudy stuffed creature, and he _happened_ to know a woman, and he _could_ give it to her. And she _might_ think it was endearing.

Of course, thanks to Chewie’s hysterical reaction, he realized he had to figure out a way to do it that was more manly, sexy, swashbuckling-rogue than lovesick, stuttering farm boy.

 

* * *

 

 

In his life had been thought of in different ways: as a smuggler, a fugitive, a criminal, a disappointment, a servant and – he assumed – an extremely handsome scoundrel. The rebel base, however, and thus within the Alliance, was the only place where he was thought of as a hero, and he had to admit he liked the feeling. He’d never been one to turn down being flattered, but this was entirely different. It was probably one of the reasons he was still bumming around Hoth instead of hightailing it to pay back Jabba.

It was because he liked milking his heroism. It had _nothing_ to do with tiny princesses with razor sharp tongues.

No matter _what_ Chewie said.

With the last batch of smuggled goods unloaded, Han accepted General Dodonna’s grateful pat on the shoulder with a smug-yet-self-deprecating wave of the hand, and folded his arms, leaning against the _Falcon_. Luke stood near him, scratching his head.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said, young eyes wide with wonder. “You never get caught!”

Han smirked lazily.

“Pure skill, kid,” he said easily, choosing not to remind Luke that he’d definitely gotten caught a few years ago, hence his needing a massive amount of money to pay back the Hutt, hence his picking up a farm boy and an old wizard and ending up here –

_[You got caught smuggling for Jabba],_ Chewie pointed out, annoyed.

But Luke couldn’t understand Chewie, so Han ignored him.

“I want to go with you sometime,” Luke said. “There’s nothing to do here.”

“There’s plenty to do here.”

At the sound of her voice, both Luke’s and Han’s heads swiveled so fast they nearly killed themselves, and behind them, Chewbacca gave a low, derisive growl. It was the growl Han identified as a Wookiee equivalent of rolling one’s eyes so far back in one’s head they disappeared.

Han made a mental note to glare at Chewie later, but did not turn around and look away from the Princess, who had appeared in the boarding ramp, arms folded. Han blinked, silent for a split second, and then in typical Solo fashion, said something abrasive.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with her royal presence.”

He heard Chewie snort derisively.

_[She’s not going to like you back if you keep acting like a full-grown Bantha.]_

Han stiffened, irritated. Leia, misinterpreting Chewie’s series of growls, smiled at him nicely.

“Nice to see you, too, Chewie.”

_[Always a pleasure, Princess Leia.]_

“What did he say?” Leia asked Han.

“That he can smell how much you missed me,” Han retorted, straight-faced.

Luke looked like he was about to fall backwards out of the ship. Taken aback, Leia stared at Chewie; he gave a howl of protest, starting forward as if to _whack_ Han with a large paw, and Han ducked aside, grinning suavely. With a rude snarl, Chewbacca turned and stomped into the belly of the ship, leaving the three alone at the entrance.

Han rubbed the back of his head.

“C’mon, admit it,” Han said smugly. “You missed me.”

Ever the diplomat, Leia said:

“We all missed you. You tend to put people in a good mood,” she paused, and added quietly: “for some inexplicable reason.”

Han turned to Luke.

“Hear that, kid? I get her in the mood.”

“That’s not what she said,” Luke said immediately. “She means you’re – people _like_ you,” Luke protested.

“Think you know women better than I do, huh?” Han said dryly.

Leia stepped between them both, onto the ship.

“I stopped by to stay thank you for making another run,” she said, inching into the ship’s interior.

She was fascinated by the _Falcon._ She’d never admit it out loud, but despite its ramshackle appearance and its failure to ever work properly at the right time, it made her feel safe. Perhaps because it had gotten her off the Death Star. Something like that. It certainly wasn’t the captain that made her feel safe –

“Hey, Your Worship,” Han said, turning sharply. “Where you goin’?”

“Chewie seemed angry,” she said. Her eyes were on a new addition to the ship.

She wandered down the hall. Han put out his hand in disbelief.

“Why’s she always wandering around my ship?” he asked, blinking at Luke.

Luke shrugged.

“Don’t you want her on your ship?” Skywalker asked, clearly a little nettled.

Han gave him a winning smile.

“Good point,” he drawled, strolling on after Leia. “Chewie’s not angry,” he said. “He’s just afraid that once you and I run off together, I won’t have time for him anymore.”

“Oh, will I be accompanying you to pay off Jabba?” Leia asked acerbically.

Han frowned. He stopped, and put his hands on his hips, watching her look around. She really drove him crazy. Did she not understand flirtation?

“I was thinkin’ somethin’ more romantic than that,” he said, trying to recover.

Leia turned, abruptly.

“Like what?”

Completely blindsided, Han stared at her dumbly. He’d been expecting her to give him a stiff, annoyed retort about leaving her alone. He’d even been prepared for her to angrily insist he stop playing games, call him a name, and storm off while raging that she didn’t like him _at all._

She arched an eyebrow at him very seriously.

“I’m waiting to hear about your ideas pertaining to romance, Han.”

He didn’t have anything to say. He didn’t know a kriffing thing about romance. Well, he did have the Kray dragon, that was kind of romantic --

From down the hall, Chewie’s growl drifted towards them:

_[Why don’t you give her that stuffed toy, loverboy?]_

Han blanched slightly, narrowing his eyes – damn Chewie and his blasted Wookiee hearing.

_[I’m sure she’d love to know you spend your free time thinking about ways to make her like you. Mooning after her like a swooning teenage human.]_

“No, I _don’t_!” shouted Han.

Leia blinked, tilting her head. Unable to understand Shriywook, she just stood there, contemplating for a moment. Then, her lips turned up in the most annoying, triumphant little ghost of a smirk Han had ever seen. She managed to look prim and superior without saying a single word. He didn’t know if she’d guessed the gist of Chewie’s words or if she just thought she’d won, but he glared at her – any thought of giving her that damn thing evaporated, because he’d just look like some – simpering – _moof-milker_ \--

Chewie sniggered; Han glowered, and Leia turned, putting her palm on the door of his cabin.

“I wanted to see what kind of material is in those pillows you have, because the regulation ones are hurting my neck and I remember sleeping,” she flushed pink, “quite well in one of these bunks on the way to Yavin – “

“ _Freeze_ , Princess!” Han shouted abruptly, reaching past her and yanking the cabin door shut.

Startled, Leia pulled her and back, holding it to her chest.

Having just remembered the fluffy stuffed Krayt dragon was laying on his bunk, Han forgot to make a crude joke about her, his pillows, and said bunk; he just knew he had to prevent Leia from opening that door, seeing it, and forever thinking he slept with an overlarge carnival toy.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Why can’t I go in?” she asked.

“Since when do you want into my cabin so badly?” Han retorted, stalling.

She put her hands on her petite hips.

“You – you’re so -- !” she blustered. She glared at him. “I just want to see the pillows!”

“Well, I’d be glad to give you a real good education on the pillows anytime, sweetheart, but not now,” he said, regaining some of his charming composure.

Her cheeks turned even pinker, and she scowled again.

“Why not now?” she demanded, authoritative. “Are you smuggling something in there?”

Han’s brows went up in disbelief – the irony.

“Smuggling’s what I do for your little ragtag militia!” he reminded her.

“Yes, but is there _contraband_ in there?” she asked, growing more suspicious by the minute.

He blinked at her, and then lowered his face closer to hers.

“Hate to break it to you, Princes, but this whole rebellion you got going is _contraband_ ,” he pointed out smoothly.

“You know what I mean!” she snapped. “Do you have – unauthorized liquor, or some sort of animal – or a _woman?”_ her eyes took on a round, shocked shape.

“Aw, c’mon, Leia,” he said narrowly. “I didn’t smuggle a female in my cabin,” he rolled his eyes.

She gave him an icy look.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you,” she said. “It isn’t as if you can find one here,” she added.

He glared at her. Then, he gave her a slightly disarming smile.

“I’ll wear you down, Sweetheart,” he promised.

“Han, really. You’re acting like there’s a Krayt dragon in there.”

_“Who told you there was a Krayt dragon in there?”_

Leia took a step back, her eyes wide. Han clenched his jaw, almost wincing at his own panic. His hand on the door, he glanced over, and then rubbed his jaw, trying to think of something to say that would make him seem less certifiably insane and more – svelte and dashing.

They stared at each other, and she took another step back.

At that moment, Luke brightly interrupted, stomping up to them.

“Leia, they’re looking for you in the medical wing.”

“Oh,” Leia said, still eyeing Han suspiciously. She nodded. “Okay.”

She turned to go, shooting one last wary glance at him before she disappeared. Han turned and glared at Luke, still guarding his cabin door. Luke smiled blithely.

“Why’d they need her in medical?” Han asked. “What’s wrong with her?”

Luke shrugged.

“She gives them briefings on Empire torture methods,” Luke said.

Han looked confused.

“She knows how to torture people?”

Looking pointedly at Han, Luke said:

“She does a pretty good job of torturing you.”

“Ha ha, kid. _Smart_.”

Luke shrugged again.

“She _was_ tortured. She knows what they use and how. So they can prepare to treat it.”

Momentarily distracted, Han let his hand slide off the door. Hands hanging at his sides, he frowned. Somehow, hearing that Leia, barely on the brink of full adulthood, was the Alliance’s leading authority on how the Empire tortured, really made him shudder.

Oblivious to Han’s sudden introspective discomfort, Luke nodded at the door.

“What was that all about, anyway? What _is_ in there?”

Chewie appeared, opening his big mouth once again:

_[Han’s fragile heart, beating tenderly upon his sleeve.]_

Scandalized, Han turned on Chewie and began swearing at him colorfully in Corellian, while Chewbacca howled with laughter. Intrigued, Luke grinned.

“What did he say?” he asked over the din, and Han merely shouted back:

“Get off my ship!”

 

* * *

 

Up until recently – very recently; in fact, up until twenty minutes ago, Chewbacca had ferociously enjoyed relentlessly taunting Han about his increasingly debilitating crush on Alderaan’s finest. Though it was not quite obvious to the smuggler – meaning, he hadn’t dared be introspective enough to admit it yet – to the Wookiee, it was clear that Han had it bad for the Princess, and in trying to convince himself he was not being taken in by a feisty little aristocrat from the upper echelons of society, he was spending all of his time swaggering about claiming she was hopelessly in love with him.

Which Chewbacca believed was also true, but Leia Organa had so many things to worry about and things emotions to sort through, it would probably take something of herculean magnitude to force her to specifically address that one.

The point was: Chewie liked goading Han about as much as Han liked picking on the Princess, except over the last few hours of this evening, bedeviling him about this stuffed animal thing had somehow turned in to Chewbacca listening to Han try to figure out a masculine way to give Leia the stuffed animal.

Fed up, and unable to truly block out Han’s increasingly ridiculous monologue about the blasted Krayt dragon, Chewie flung his hands up and gave a roar, once again nearly startling the pants off his co-pilot and best friend.

“ _Chewie_!” barked Han, recovering nicely. “Stop that!” he ordered childishly.

_[Just go give her the damn thing!]_

Han glared at him.

“I’ll look like an idiot!”

_[Since when have you cared about that?]_

Outraged, Han opened his mouth in silent protest. He narrowed his eyes, and pointed sharply at Chewie.

“I can’t have people sayin’ Han Solo’s gone soft!” he insisted.

_[You don’t have to give it to her at a public ceremony!]_ Chewie growled. Chuckling, he lifted his shoulders and leered at Han _. [Give it to her privately with a note signed secret admirer.]_

Han grit his teeth, fed up with Chewie’s teasing.

“I need to make her think it was her idea. Since she’s in love with me,” Han said seriously.

Chewie gave him a skeptical murmur.

_[So it was her idea for you to spend fifty credits winning a stuffed toy -- ]_

“For the last time, I didn’t go into it planning to win her the damn – I just didn’t want to waste it – “ Han stammered angrily, his face turning red.

He folded his arms, brooding, and then held up his hand.

“I could leave it outside her door, and just confuse her for a week or so,” he said wickedly.

Chewie looked at him balefully.

_[As if the empire hasn’t messed with her head enough.]_

Horrified, Han drew back, his face blanching. Chewie gave him a solemn look, and then shrugged.

_[She’d know it was you anyway. You threw a Hutt sized fit when she mentioned Krayts.]_

Han fumed silently – Chewie was right; she’d guess. She’d probably tell everyone – no; she’d tell Luke.

_Luke_ would tell everyone.

Han sighed quietly to himself.

[ _Han_ ] growled Chewie, exasperated: _[Just give her the damn thing. Get it off the ship. It’s making you crazy.]_

Stubborn, Han folded his arms.

“I’m not gonna go around handing out cuddly, fluffy stuffed animals. It’s not what Han Solo does. And she likes Han Solo,” he finished roguishly.

_[She likes_ her _Han Solo]._

“What the kriff is that supposed to mean?” demanded Han.

The Wookiee shrugged.

_[You’re less like Han Solo around her]_ he said mysteriously.

Chewie got up, and Han frowned, thinking about that. He wasn’t any different around Leia than anyone else – he wasn’t different at all! Just because he was hanging around the base, keeping people stocked, making sure they could still fight…checking up on Luke…mentoring some of the newer pilots…

Han leaned forward and smacked his forehead with his palm.

_[Besides; I hear human women like vulnerable, soft men]_ Chewie said slyly.

“Vulnerable?!”

_[Wookiee women, on the other hand, they like strong, masculine…]_

Chewie’s words were drowned out by Han grabbing a pair of hydro spanners off the table and chucking them at his friend’s retreating form. They clattered against the Falcon’s walls, and Han turned back to the table to brood.

* * *

 

After an immature hour of ignoring everything Chewbacca did or said, Han decided, quite abruptly, that he was going to Krayt dragon to Leia. If for no other reason than if he didn’t, he’d have to keep it, which might ruin his credibility more than surreptitiously gifting it to a girl. He also convinced himself it was a somewhat creepy toy, so it actually wouldn’t look that mushy if he gave it to her … it would just look like a joke.

Still, he didn’t leave the Falcon carrying it until well after lights out on the base. Under the cover of darkness, he smuggled the stuffed animal through the hallways, hoping he was remembering which wing was the female housing wing.

There weren’t that many women on the rebel base. If anyone saw Han, they’d know exactly whose room he was headed towards; no one would think he was up to anything with Mon Mothma, and like many humans, he didn’t engage in cross-species relationships.

Han took a small amount of pleasure in the fact that they’d assume he and Leia were sneaking around. It downplayed how silyl he looked tiptoeing through the shadows with an absurd Krayt dragon shaped lump. Towards the middle of the female quarters, Han stood looking between two doors – _kriff_.

He couldn’t remember which one she was.

Squinting, he looked between them both even harder, apparently trying to force himself to be able to see through doors. Speaking of force – where was that mythical force when you needed it? What the hell was it good for, if not seeing through women’s bedroom doors two hours after base quiet time started –

A small sliver of light nearly blinded him, and he took a guilty, sheepish step back.

“Han?”

Her startled, familiar voice made him feel less sheepish – at least it was Leia that had opened the door, and he didn’t have to explain himself twice – but he didn’t really feel any less guilty. She opened the door a little more, and folded her arms, bathed in dull yellow light from her room.

She had a white robe on. Tied over a white nightgown. That went to her ankles. The only thing remotely unkempt or tantalizing about her nighttime appearance was that her hair was partially down. The other part of it was tied up in a loose braid forming a headband.

“What are you doing outside my door?” Leia asked.

“Where are you going this time of night?” Han retorted

“My question is definitely more pressing,” Leia fired back just as quickly.

Han thought about countering, but he clamped his mouth shut; she was kind of right. He slept on the _Falcon_ , and that was a good ways away from the female quarters. She could be sneaking out to get something other than water to drink. Even if he was going to the kitchens, he was way out of the way.

“Can I come in?” Han asked.

“ _Definitely_ not.”

He scowled at her, for that; he genuinely wasn’t here, stalking her, for anything salacious. Trapped awkwardly in the hallway, and flagrantly terrified someone else was going to randomly open their door at this hour, he shifted his feet and brought forward the stuffed animal, holding it out in front of him.

It must have startled Leia; she gave a shrill little squeal and leapt back.

Then, her eyes widened, she clamped her hand over her mouth, and stared at him for a split second, realizing anyone might come running to investigate. The next thing he knew, she’d grabbed him and yanked him inside, slamming her door.

Still unsure of what exactly had happened, Han blinked sharply.

“Why did you scream?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

Her cheeks turned red.

“It – in the light – I wasn’t prepared – what is that thing – _shhh_!” she tried to say about a thousand things at once, and then violently shushed him.

He held up his hands, Krayt dragon and all, and clamped his mouth shut – even though he hadn’t been talking. There was a knock at her door.

“Princess Leia, are you alright?” It was the raspy female voice of another species, and Leia winced, her ear against the door gently.

“Yes, I am,” she answered in a squeak.

“I heard you cry out – “

“Yes, yes,” she said hastily. “I’m alright, Raxa, it’s the same as always,” she said.

Han’s brow furrowed; that seemed to get the investigator to leave Leia alone. Soft footsteps faded, a door shut, and Leia turned around, leaning against her door. She let out her breath, and then glared at him.

_“What are you doing here?”_

Suddenly feeling extremely chastised, Han scratched the back of his head, letting the toy dangle from one hand. Her eyes went to it, and she raised her eyes to his face expectantly. He lifted it again, slowly:

“Don’t scream,” he warned dryly.

She blushed a little, and folded her arms, straightening up. Again, he held it up to her, its slightly ugly nose level with hers. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she, which contributed to a particularly loaded an ongoing silence. Finally, with some hesitation, she ventured:

“Do you want me to take this from you?”

She asked it so delicately, and so politely, he almost laughed. Instead, he nodded firmly.

“Yeah.”

Gingerly, she did, turning it and holding. She looked down at it – she looked like she was holding a small pet, and for the moment he stared at her, holding it, he realized it really was a mangy, worn out looking thing – Sith knew how long it had hung waiting to be won from that old cheat.

She held it, her nose a little crinkled, and he stood there in his slightly rumpled clothing, carefully deciding if he wanted to say anything. Before he could, she looked up.

“Han,” she said softly, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sick?”

“Huh?” he asked. He almost gave her a serious answer, until he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes, and understood she was teasing him. He gave her a small glare, slightly uncomfortable, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Your highness, don’t get all dewy-eyed on me – “

“Dewy-eyed?” she repeated, amused.

“ – I know it seems sweet, but really, I know every time I leave you’re pining for me – “

“I am?”

“—and I figured, hey, why not make her dreams come true, give her some Solo charm – “

“This thing is Solo charm?”

“—and I picked up this thing somehow – “

“Han?”

He stopped, blinking.

“What?” he asked warily, bristling slightly.

She shrugged a little.

“Did you…win this at one of this games?”

Han folded his arms.

“So what if I did?”

“For me?”

“I won a game,” he said brashly. “With my skill – I was waitin’ on Chewie, and it got me that, so it’s – for you,” he explained.

He was extremely gruff about it, but it still happened to sound – thoughtful. He winced, prepared for whatever stinging barb that was about to come off of her tongue. She looked at him neutrally for a moment, her face unreadable, and then looked down. She lifted the thing, and looked at it.

“This is the ugliest stuffed animal I’ve ever seen,” she remarked.

Han rubbed his neck again.

“Yeah,” he agreed dryly. “Kind of hard to make a Krayt dragon cute.”

Leia merely nodded thoughtfully.

“The other option was a gundark,” Han said.

“So, you put thought into this?” Leia asked.

Han mentally kicked himself.

“Nope,” he blustered.

Leia just gave him a slightly smug little look. He held out his hand, and said gruffly:

“Who makes a kid’s toy out of a Krayt dragon?”

Leia shrugged.

“I think it makes sense,” she said unexpectedly.

Han gave her a look. She patted the toy’s head in a move of uncharacteristic whimsy.

“Maybe they’re scary enough to frighten away nightmares,” she murmured.

Han frowned, wondering if that’s what Leia had meant when she told Raxa her commotion was nothing more than _the usual._ He realized he didn’t really know all that much about Leia privately; maybe that’s why he got so irked around her: because he wanted to, and he sensed she thought too little of him.

Then again, she looked up at him now, and he didn’t feel like she thought little of him at all.

He cleared his throat. He started to say something about how she shouldn’t read into it – giving it to her was an afterthought, really; he wasn’t a softie, he wasn’t trying to convince her he was a good person while also remaining the larger than life, cool smuggler everyone knew and adored –

Ah; who in seven hells was he kidding?

“You should go,” Leia said.

Han nodded. To his credit, he didn’t make a joke about her inviting him to stay. He felt slightly humbled, and he started to stride out quickly, before he could be disarmed anymore. She shook her head.

“Wait!” she hissed.

She opened the door, and peeked out into the hall. Stepping back, she nodded.

“You’re clear.”

“Afraid to let ‘em talk, Princess?” he asked slyly, unable to hold back. “So what if someone sees me?”

She looked at him very solemnly, blinking slowly.

“Then I’d be forced to tell them you went across to galaxy to get me a stuffed animal.”

His face darkened, and he glowered at her.

“You tell anyone – “

She turned up her nose, clutching the Krayt dragon.

“As if I want to flaunt the fact that your idea of courtship is fetching a beaten up, lumpy stuffed Tatooine monster!”

He gestured between them.

“So this is between us?” he hissed seriously.

Leia nodded – she didn’t want to deal with the chastisement from ten different directions if anyone thought she was involved with Han, especially her Alderaanian countrymen, she didn’t want a jealousy-inflamed, pouty Luke moping for days and – and – she didn’t want to keep talking about this, because it was a weird gesture for Han, a strange thing, and she wanted to be alone to think about it and then maybe file it away with a million other emotions she couldn’t bear to confront lest they shatter her.

Han nodded affirmatively back, turning to slink away.

“Han?” she whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear.

He turned back, and she stood in the crack of the doorway, holding the large animal so that her eyes just peeked over its head, wide and brown, glittering almost timidly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Before he could respond, she shut her door, and the light to the room went off, fading and leaving the hallway in almost utter darkness. Standing there, blinking, attempting to adjust his vision, Han swore under his breath. He almost wished someone would open the door and catch him – start all kinds of rumors that would infuriate the princess and give him back some control over the situation – that would be better than being caught this unaware by the reality of his own feelings.

 


End file.
